What The Heart Wants
by Kittystitch
Summary: A sequel to "The Snatch". The team is sent into Italy to kidnap Major Vogel's teenage daughter.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Thanks once again to my wonderful beta reader, chantellegg, for her invaluable input. And to Jerri for her ideas for working out a plot knot. And thanks to everyone who takes the time to read. It's nice to have an appreciative audience._

 **WHAT THE HEART WANTS**

Chief knew she was gone. She'd gently let go of the medallion after she'd unwound the chain from her fingers, and he'd felt the chill left behind when she'd moved her arm from across his bare chest. She usually slipped away before dawn.

Her name was Hannah. She bussed tables and washed dishes at The Doves while her fiancé fought for King and country on the front lines in Italy. Her unruly mass of ginger curls, startling emerald eyes, and impish laughter were a refreshing flash of sunshine in an otherwise dark world.

Their flirtation began innocently enough, with a casual touch, a sly smile, the occasional free beer. Then one windy, wet night, after a particularly frustrating failed mission, he'd lingered over his drink long after the others had left, unable to loosen the tight knots in his shoulders. When she'd come to take his empty mug, she'd taken his hand instead, laced her warm fingers with his, and led him upstairs to one of the guest rooms. All it took was her mouth on his, and her insistent tug at his belt buckle, and they'd barely gotten enough clothes off before they devoured each other in a passionate frenzy of sheer physical need.

That was months ago. She would come to him now when she'd gotten a letter from the front that was so mutilated by censors as to be unreadable, or when the news from Italy was especially grim. He'd seek her out after a mission, when he was wound so tight he felt like something inside would snap. Unlike the shy, submissive girls, or the hardened, bored professionals he'd known, she was bold and playful, unafraid to show him exactly what she needed. She'd kiss his latest cuts and bruises, and never asked him how he'd gotten them or where he'd been.

Last night she'd slipped under the sheets next to him and brushed her soft lips across the fading bruise along his jaw line, moving over to caress the almost healed cut on his lower lip. She'd trailed a cool line of gentle kisses down his neck and chest, and as she'd pushed the sheet away from the large purple bruise beneath his ribs, she'd gasped, a quiet breath of a sound. Lightly she'd traced the edges of it with the work-roughened tips of her fingers, bringing him close to the edge of his self control.

"Does it hurt?"

He'd pulled her back up to face him and covered her mouth with his, then rolled her beneath him and showed her just how little it did hurt.

Now, slowly drifting awake, he stretched and turned over to the vacant side of the bed, breathing in the heady musk that still lingered on the sheets and on his skin, and he smiled at the pleasant tension it reignited. The pleasure faded when he heard Casino's distinctive gait coming up the stairs, and he wasn't surprised by the banging on the door.

"Rise and shine, lover-boy. The war needs us."

He untangled himself from the sheets and rolled to his feet, starting to gather his clothes from where they were scattered on the floor. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on."

"Look who's talkin'. Let's move it, Romeo. I got orders to bring you in personally."

He pulled on his pants, slipped into his boots, and started buttoning his shirt as he opened the door. Casino was leaning against the opposite wall, impatiently smoking a cigarette.

Chief tucked in his shirt tail. "What's the caper this time?"

"I think we've been elected to clean up somebody else's mess."

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The grey dawn had brightened only slightly into a wet morning, with a steady rain hitting the windshield as they pulled into the mansion's courtyard. Chief sprinted after Casino as he hurried up the steps. They were the first to arrive in the map room, where the staff had laid out a breakfast of fruit, scones, jam and coffee. Casino slouched into his usual seat and poured a cup of coffee, but Chief reached for a scone, a treat he'd grown especially fond of. He dropped into his chair and smiled as he bit into the crumbly bread. If the Army considered this a prison, it was certainly the best one he would ever experience. Except for the missions.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Actor circled the table to his chair, taking a scone as he passed. "I trust we all slept well?"

Casino grunted something unintelligible.

"Chief?" Actor pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it across the table to Chief, indicating with his other hand a spot just to the left of his mouth. "You might want to check in a mirror the next time."

Chief felt the heat rise up his neck, but took Actor's offered handkerchief and wiped at the corresponding spot on his own cheek. The handkerchief came away with a small smear of red lipstick. He handed the square of silk back to Actor with a nod of thanks.

Garrison strode through the door and to the head of the table. "Alright, men, we have an assignment." He tossed a file folder onto the table and glanced around. "Where's Goniff?"

"He couldn't find a clean shirt," Actor informed them. "He'll be along."

Garrison frowned and shook his head. "It would be nice if you all could be on time for once."

"I'm 'ere!" Goniff rushed in, still buttoning his rumpled shirt. He flopped into his chair and started struggling to get his boots on. "What'd I miss?"

"The champagne and dancin' girls, babe. They just left."

"Funny."

"Settle down." Garrison handed a photo to Actor. "This is our target. Minna Vogel. Major Gregor Vogel's daughter."

Chief had figured that would be the mission. They'd gotten the Major out of Norway a couple of weeks ago under the ruse of a kidnapping, but his teenage daughter was still at a girls' school in Italy. If the Nazis discovered the Major had actually defected, she could be in danger.

"I thought they sent another team into Italy to get her." Actor handed the photo across the table to Chief.

"They did. They were compromised almost immediately. One man was killed. Now the Krauts have increased security at the school. We've been chosen to try again."

"C'mon, Warden," Casino protested. "Another suicide mission? Why can't the kid just stay right there in her cozy little boarding school until the war's over? What's so important about a teenage girl?"

"The brass promised Vogel they'd get her to England. It was part of their deal. Now he's refusing to cooperate until we hold up our end of the bargain."

Chief studied the photo, obviously a school picture. Her neat white blouse and green uniform jacket were just visible below her smiling face. She looked directly at the camera with the same intelligence and confidence as her father. Her long dark hair was pulled demurely back into a ponytail, tied with a bow that matched her jacket. She was 15. Maybe 16.

Chief passed the photo over his shoulder to Goniff. "Does she know we're comin'?"

Garrison shook his head. "Not really. We assume the Nazis told her that her father was kidnapped. Beyond that, we don't know what she knows."

Casino took the photo from Goniff. "What if she'sun facista?What if she don't wanna leave?"

"Her father assures us she's not. We have a hand-written letter from him - a kind of letter of introduction for us."

"Isn't it a little dangerous carrying that kind of information behind enemy lines?" Actor wanted to know.

"A necessary risk," Garrison assured him.

"Okay, so what's the plan, Warden?" Goniff tossed the photo into the middle of the table. "Somethin' smarter than those first blokes tried, right?"

"Our contacts in the area have solid connections at the school. They've arranged for Actor to start as a new teacher." Garrison smiled at Actor. "You are Count Bruno Moretti, an Italian nobleman suffering from the war economy and supporting yourself by teaching. Chief, you're his man servant."

"Me? Why me?"

Garrison shrugged. "It's your turn."

"Why not Goniff? He's done it before."

Goniff pulled out of his slouch. "Oh no. I ain't doin' that again. I had my fill 'o that crap..."

Garrison waved off their protests. "I need you to watch the girl, Chief. Try to get close to her..."

Casino leered at Chief across the table and chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet. How close are we talkin'?"

Chief smiled back. "What's the matter, Casino? A little...frustrated?"

Garrison's voice hitched up a notch. "Knock it off, all of you."

Rolling his eyes, Casino picked up a scone and broke it in half. "Okay, so what are we gonna be doin' while Cochise and Beautiful here are wooin' the ladies?"

"We improvise."

"Oh, that's great. So there's no real plan."

"We'll be in the nearby village, ready to take advantage of whatever snatch opportunities Actor and Chief can come up with."

Actor sat up a little straighter, already assuming a professorial pose. "And what will I be teaching? I must be prepared, you know."

"Art. Think you can handle that?"

"Ah, the Renaissance is my specialty. I should begin with Brunelleschi. There's an excellent book in the library..."

Garrison cut him off. "Your job is to make contact with the girl and get her away from her guards."

"But if I can also impart a little knowledge..."

"Just don't get carried away." Garrison retrieved the picture and slid it back into the folder. "If there are no other questions, get some rest. We fly out at 18:00."

As the others rose and filed out, complaining about having to jump into Italy at night, Chief snagged himself two more scones and an apple. He'd stash them for later. He was almost out the door when Garrison called him back.

"Chief..."

He huffed a sigh and turned back to face the Lieutenant. He'd known this was coming sometime.

Garrison propped a foot onto the chair Goniff had just vacated, leaning on his knee, and watched him silently for a moment, until the others were out of earshot, heading up the stairs. "I know you men haven't thought of this as a prison for a long time. Don't make me tighten the leash again."

Chief just stared at him, forcing him to come to the point.

Garrison took a breath. "What we do is demanding and brutal. How you choose to decompress, and what you do with your personal time, is your business. But I need to be able to find you in a hurry. Understood?"

"You have this little talk with the others?"

"Some of them." Garrison was not giving up any confidences. "And a little discretion would be nice, too." Garrison half-smiled and touched the same spot on his own cheek that Actor had.

Chief quickly swiped his mouth with his cuff, wiping away the remainder of the lipstick. He gave his commander a brief smile before he left. "You're the boss."

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Actor wiped the remaining shaving cream from his chin and studied the face looking back at him from the bathroom mirror. The scratch on his right cheek wasn't deep. It would be gone in a few days, leaving no mark. He'd run into a stray tree branch in the dark after they'd parachuted in three nights ago. He'd have to remember to be more cautious during night jumps. At least the apartment the school had provided for him and his 'valet', at the edge of the campus, was spacious and comfortable. His suite of rooms was separate from Chief's, and the rare privacy was a welcome luxury.

His first two days of teaching had been a revelation. Since he'd settled into his position with Garrison's team, he'd discovered that he had a knack for teaching, and he enjoyed it. He took pride in being able to turn a New York mobster into a German Field Marshal, and an uneducated Cockney clod into an English gentleman. But teenage girls were a totally different challenge. He had been perturbed by their glazed expressions as he'd tried to impart the delights of Renaissance art. There must be some way he could bring it alive for them.

With thoughts of the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper bouncing in his head, he walked back into his bedroom. He was startled to find Chief lying across the bed, staring at the ceiling, idly playing with his knife. He hadn't heard him come in.

Actor tossed his damp towel onto the bed and picked up the clean white shirt hanging on the bedpost. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

"I think you should wash the car today." The Mercedes their contact had provided for them had gotten muddy on their drive in, and no longer looked like the vehicle of an Italian nobleman.

Chief rose from the bed with a quick, fluid motion that Actor envied."You know I ain't really your servant, right?"

Actor looked at his young teammate critically, hoping the Lieutenant hadn't made a mistake by placing him undercover. Perhaps this was a teaching opportunity, too. "For the con to work, you must become your character, make him part of you."

"And you know nobody's watchin' us now, right?"

Actor felt his patience seeping away. He indicated the lethally sharp switchblade Chief still held. "And you know not to display that thing conspicuously on campus, right?"

Chief's eyes narrowed and a muscle tightened in his jaw. He deftly folded the knife and slipped it into his pocket, then held up his bare right arm, fingers splayed, to demonstrate that he was smarter than Actor was giving him credit for.

"Fair enough." Actor turned away from Chief's frank stare and slipped into his shirt. This might be more difficult than he anticipated. But Chief certainly couldn't be a more unwilling student than Goniff or Frank Keeler. "Washing the car would give you an opportunity to discreetly surveil most of the campus..."

A small smile lifted the corners of Chief's mouth as he headed out the door. "Already got it covered. _Sir_."

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Chief scrubbed at the hardened blob of mud on the rear fender, wondering what was in the local dirt that made it so thick. He'd been at this for an hour, and he could feel the burn building in his shoulders. Picking up the shirt he'd dropped on the ground, he wiped the sweat from his face and leaned back against the newly shining fender, taking in the expanse of cool, green lawn that stretched in front of him.

Actor's holier-than-thou attitude could raise his hackles. Sometimes he just wanted to punch the guy in the face. The mental image made him smile. But Chief had come to admire and rely on Actor's intelligence and knowledge, his ability to stay calm and think clearly under pressure, and his unshakeable loyalty to Garrison. To all of them. And Chief loved playing chess with him, even though he almost never won. As with Garrison, Chief had decided long ago to trust the conman, and he knew for certain he was still alive because of it. He'd settle for occasionally playing with the guy's mind, trying to punch holes in the smug facade.

This time Actor had been right. This was a good place to watch most of the campus. Chief had already wandered the grounds, scouting the layout, but from this one spot he could work out guard schedules, and staff and student routines, making note of any blind spots and weaknesses. The Warden would want all that information at their rendezvous later.

The sound of raised voices made him look up. The argument was coming from behind the tool shed to his left. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but he realized he was only hearing them now because they were yelling. It bothered him that he couldn't understand any of the Italian, but he decided to sneak away rather than be caught eavesdropping.

He started to gather up the wet rags and bucket of soapy water, but he wasn't quick enough. He immediately recognized the girl who rounded the corner of the shed. Minna Vogel, with her long, dark ponytail and green school uniform, looked exactly like her picture. Only she wasn't smiling.

She came up short when she saw him, surprised that she wasn't alone. Quickly, with the sleeve of her blouse, she dashed tears from her cheeks.

"Sorry," Chief apologized. "Didn't mean to frighten you."

"You didn't frighten me," she sniffed. Her English was perfect, with barely a hint of a German accent. "You're Signore Moretti's valet, aren't you?"

He nodded. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, thank you. You must've overheard. Just a little misunderstanding." She set the books she was carrying onto the hood of the car, quickly regaining her composure. "I heard you're Polish. You don't sound Polish."

His mind raced. He hadn't anticipated that detail. "I was raised in...the U.S. Came back right before the war."

She gave a little laugh. "Poor timing, huh?"

"I guess so."

She twisted her ponytail between her fingers and studied him. "I'm Minna."

He suddenly realized he was still shirtless and sweating. He started to put his shirt back on.

"No, wait," she urged, reaching for the sketch pad among the books she'd placed on the car hood. "What's your name?"

"Boris." He hated it, but figured he was stuck with it. It was the name they'd put on his fake travel documents.

Her tears were gone now, and the smile she flashed at him was the one he'd seen in her photo, poised and confident. "Signore Moretti gave us an assignment to draw a picture of a Greek god. Would you mind being my model?"

She was bold for a 16 year old, he had to give her that. She was flirting with him. He suppressed the impulse to flirt back. "I got work to do..."

"Come on, it will only take a few minutes. Just stand right there."

"Fräulein Vogel, müssen Sie sofort mit mir kommen." The shout came from across the open lawn, from the Kraut soldier who was rushing in their direction, an armed detail behind him. Actor was hurrying to keep up.

The Kraut waved the rifle at him threateningly. "Wer bist du, und warum sprechen Sie Englisch?"

Chief's right hand twitched, but he settled for wringing out the soapy rag he held. Actor was immediately at his side, laying a patronizing hand on his shoulder. The Kraut seemed to be satisfied with whatever Actor said to him. He lowered his weapon and barked an order to his men. The soldiers surrounded Minna and began pushing her back across the lawn. The frightened glance she gave him over her shoulder grabbed at something deep inside him.

Chief waited until they were out of earshot. "What's that all about?"

"He was going to shoot you for speaking English. I explained that you're my valet and speak only Polish and English."

That didn't answer his question. "Where are they takin' her?"

Actor sighed, watching the crowd of soldiers, with the school girl at their center, disappear into the administration building. "Apparently they're closing the school and making it the local Kommandant's headquarters. They're taking Minna into hiding."

"Does the Warden know?"

"Not yet. But we need to leave, too. Get the gear together..."

Chief pulled away from Actor's hand on his shoulder. "I ain't your servant, remember?" He grabbed his shirt and walked away toward their quarters.

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Garrison had been standing over the map of the campus that Chief had drawn, studying it for what seemed like hours. He could have memorized every detail by now. Chief shifted his weight on the window sill of the safe house's small front room, and stared out into the black night. He was used to waiting for the Warden to rework a plan that had gone bust, but he kept seeing Minna's frightened eyes as the soldiers herded her away. He needed to be doing something. Now.

Finally Garrison looked up at Actor, who was seated at the small table in the center of the room. "When are they moving her?"

"From what I can gather, not for another day or two."

"Do you know where?"

Actor leaned forward and reached for his tobacco pouch. "That they are not divulging."

"Chief, show me where the guards are stationed."

"You're not thinkin' of stormin' that place now, are ya, Warden?" Casino righted his chair and leaned forward on the table. "They've probably moved in whole armored battalions by now."

Garrison ignored the protest. "Chief?"

He pushed away from his window seat and joined Garrison at the table, smoothing out the map as he pointed to specific locations. "At each gate and the doors to the dormitory. And one guy does a walking patrol of the perimeter that takes about a half hour."

"Good work."

But Chief didn't like the odds. That information was two days old. "Casino's right, Warden. The guards are probably doubled by now."

Goniff finally spoke up from where he was stretched out on the sofa. "So they'll never notice a few more Kraut soldiers, right? We'll just waltz right in, tell 'em we're takin' her to her senior prom, and waltz right back out. Simple as that."

The Warden gave him a wry smile. "I wish that would work." Then he turned back to Chief. "What do you think are their most vulnerable points?"

Chief frowned at him, knowing exactly where this was going. He pointed back to his drawing. "The rear gate is the most secluded. And they store gas and paint and stuff in this unlocked shed."

Garrison straightened. "Gentlemen, there's our plan. The rear gate is our way in, the storage shed is our diversion."

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They'd waited silently in the dark, just inside the tree line, watching as the guards made their rounds of the school's outer fence. Chief had guessed right. There were now two guards patrolling in opposite directions, cutting their window of time for getting through the gate down to fifteen minutes. But that was all they needed. The one stationary guard on the gate paced back and forth, humming to himself, probably trying to stay awake.

Garrison tapped Chief and Casino on the shoulder, motioning them forward. Chief waited briefly, until the guard had turned his back, then soundlessly approached and slid his blade between the guy's ribs. Casino hurried to the gate and had the lock opened in under a minute.

Once through the gate, Garrison, Casino and Goniff headed for the storage shed, and Chief led Actor toward the dormitory building.

Chief counted off the windows on the ground floor. Minna's was third from the left. All were dark, their blackout curtains pulled. Chief hoped she was there. They'd not given a lot of thought to a Plan B.

They crouched together in the shadows, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the fireworks to start, the diversion that would give them the cover they needed. Chief first saw the soft orange glow of flames coming from the shed in the distance, then it flickered into flame and smoke. It was only minutes before the alarm sounded.

Chief reached up and gave the window a shove, on the outside chance that it was unlocked, a trick he'd learned from Goniff. You don't want to do anymore work than you have to. To his surprise, it swung silently inward. He boosted himself up and through.

The scene he intruded on was not what he'd anticipated. Unbothered by the clanging alarm, and unable to hear him as he dropped to the floor, Minna and a dark-haired young man were in various stages of undress, too absorbed in each other to notice the world beginning to crumble around them.

Minna saw him first. She gave a small scream, pulling herself from under the boy, and quickly covering herself with the blanket.

The boy leapt up, quickly buttoning his pants before realizing he should be angry instead of scared. He grabbed a pistol from the night stand. "Cosa vuoi?"

Chief held up his hands. "Take it easy, man. I ain't wantin' to hurt ya."

"Marco, put the gun down." Minna climbed out of bed and began dressing, now unperturbed by Chief's presence. "Boris, what are you doing here?"

"We were sent to take you to your father. We got a letter from him explainin' everything." Chief kept his eyes on Marco, who was still pointing the gun at him. "Look, we gotta get outta here. Things are gonna get crazy real quick."

She became aware of the fire alarm still blaring outside. "I can't just leave..."

Marco brandished the weapon, and growled in heavily accented English, "You're that servant from this afternoon. I saw how you looked at her. She's not going anywhere with you."

Chief didn't have time for this. "Okay, punk, that's it." With the speed of thought, he snatched the gun from Marco's hand and spun him around, twisting his arm up behind him. Using the garrote he carried in his pocket, he tightly bound Marco's hands behind him and pushed him into the upholstered chair in the corner. As Minna watched wide-eyed from the opposite corner, Chief pulled open the top drawers of her dresser and quickly found what he needed - several brightly colored scarves. He used one to gag Marco, and another to bind his ankles.

Minna finally found her voice. "Stop it! What are you doing? You're hurting him."

Chief took her by the arm and pulled. "C'mon. We ain't got all night."

"I can't...they'll find out..."

"That's why we gotta hurry." The look in her eyes was the same one he'd seen that afternoon, when the Krauts had dragged her away. He stuck Marco's gun in his belt, took a breath, and lowered his voice. "It's okay. We'll keep you safe."

"You'll really take me to England?" She looked from him to Marco, now struggling futilely against his bonds, then back at him.

"Yeah, we just gotta get outta here. Now."

He saw the decision flash in her eyes. With one last glance at Marco, she went to the window and climbed through. Actor was right there, taking her by the waist and helping her to the ground.

"Signore Moretti?" she stammered when she recognized him.

He kissed her hand. "Al vostro servizio, signorina."

The fire alarm was still blaring, and in the distance, swarms of soldiers were shouting and rushing toward the burning shed. They'd have it under control soon. Chief jumped to the ground and gave Actor a push. "Let's move it!"

Running as fast as they could, pulling Minna between them, they'd reached the rear gate when the first gasoline tank exploded, and the gunfire started. They both dropped instinctively, yanking Minna down with them.

Chief pulled the gun from his belt. "That ain't good."

But the gunfire was all in the distance. They were still alone at the edge of the campus. Actor stood and helped the panting Minna to her feet. "We need to stay with the plan and hope the others can, too."

As Actor headed into the woods, holding onto Minna's hand, Chief followed, keeping an eye on their rear. Their designated rendezvous point was three miles to the south. He had to have faith that Garrison and the others would get there safely. A second gasoline tank detonated, and then came the chilling chatter of machine gun fire. He had to have faith...


	2. Chapter 2

The crumbling stone one-room farmhouse had been abandoned for decades, and was now surrounded by dense forest and undergrowth, buried in vines and moss, practically invisible from a distance. The Resistance used this as a safe house, a meeting place, and storage. Inside it was dark and cramped, stacked with crates of stolen German weapons, ammunition, and field rations. Their contact had told them to take any supplies they needed. And it was considerably more comfortable than huddling on the damp forest floor.

Once Chief was satisfied that no one was right on their tail, Actor gave Minna the letter her father had written, and in the dim candlelight, she read it silently. "I knew he really wasn't a Nazi," she finally whispered.

Chief had been surprised she'd agreed to come with them even before she had all the details. She definitely had spunk. Tucking the letter beneath her blouse, she curled up under one of the army blankets on the room's only cot and fell asleep.

Chief sat on a case of Schmeissers and kept watch through a narrow slit in the single boarded-up window, a machine gun resting across his knees. Actor sat next to him in a rickety chair, his arms crossed, and his chin resting on his chest. Chief glanced at his watch, but it was too dark to see. He figured it was somewhere around 2 a.m. Outside, he could make out vague shapes in the limited moonlight.

It had been too long. The others should be here by now. He tried to keep from imagining what might have happened, kept trying to tell himself they were just being careful, taking their time. But it wasn't working. When he'd told Actor he needed to go back for them, Actor had ordered him not to. Chief bristled at the idea that Actor thought he could give orders, but he knew the conman was right. They had to stick to Garrison's plan and get the girl behind Allied lines. Then he could go back. To hell with what Actor said.

To the south, an owl hooted mournfully. It was the same owl he'd been hearing in the distance to the north a few minutes ago. The adrenalin kicked in, and he tuned every sense toward the surrounding forest. Twigs snapping, leaves rustling. Someone tripped and grunted. Not Garrison and the others. Even Goniff wasn't that clumsy. Chief tapped Actor on the shoulder, then motioned toward the door. Instantly alert, Actor nodded his understanding. Chief pulled the door open a crack and slipped out into the surrounding bushes, his knife ready.

A lean shadow of a figure stood twenty feet from him, out in the open, facing the house. A partisan? A local farmer? Using the encroaching forest as cover, Chief silently made his way through the shadows, to the figure's rear, keeping an eye out for any others. There were none. From behind, he slipped his left arm around the guy's neck, and pressed the point of his blade against his jugular. "One move and you're dead, friend."

The boy made a strangling sound, then croaked out, "No, wait. It's me. Marco."

Shit. The horny boyfriend. "What, are you crazy?" Chief loosened his grip and shoved the kid toward the door. "I knew I shoulda killed you back there."

Once inside, even in the darkness, Minna recognized Marco's voice and was instantly in his arms.

"Stupid punk followed us," Chief spit. "How many Krauts did ya bring with ya?"

Marco turned on him, dark eyes blazing. "I don't know who your are, but you're not a Polish man servant. Do you think I would just let you take her?"

"It's alright, Marco," Minna assured him. "They really are taking me to my father."

The anger didn't leave the kid's eyes. "I still don't trust him..."

Only Actor noticed the dark stain covering the boy's left shirt sleeve, and went to steady him. "You're hurt. What happened?"

"Everything was confused...I was caught in the crossfire..."

Actor eased Marco to the cot and asked Minna to bring him one of the first aid kits from a crate in the corner.

Chief's adrenalin was pumping, killing any patience he might have had. The punk was a threat. "C'mon, Actor, leave him. We gotta split. No tellin' how many of his Kraut buddies he brought with him."

"No!" Minna shouted. "You can't just leave him. They'll kill him."

"Nah, he'll bleed to death first."

Actor was ignoring both of them. "Chief, hand me the canteen."

"Actor..."

"The canteen, Chief?"

He bit off an angry reply and tossed the canteen to Actor, then went to stand by the door, opening it the barest crack. If Actor wanted them to get ambushed by a squad of Gerries, the least he could do was warn them of the attack.

"It's not too bad," Actor assured Marco. "The bullet went straight through. But you've lost a lot of blood."

"Please, Signore Moretti, he has to come with us," Minna pleaded. "You can't leave him to the Nazis."

Chief was relieved that Actor didn't immediately agree to that harebrained idea. They didn't need a wounded kid slowing them down. Especially a stupid one.

Actor was about to answer, but Chief cut him off with a raised hand. Someone else was rustling through the undergrowth.

"Garrison?" Actor mouthed silently.

Chief shook his head, and held up four fingers. There were at least that many, spread out through the trees. If the idiot kid hadn't brought them with him, they'd at least tailed him. He stuck a pistol in his belt, then held his knife up for Actor to see, and nodded toward the door.

Actor acknowledged that he understood, and Chief again slipped silently out into the darkness and the bushes. He hoped to hell Actor knew better than to start shooting before he was sure of what he was shooting at.

There were four, spread about twenty feet apart, easing their way as quietly as they could through the dense tree cover. Chief circled wide to his right, coming up behind them, and took out the first one with a quick punch to the heart. The second one was larger, muscular. The heart might be too hard to hit. He chose a lethal slice across the guy's windpipe. He hadn't counted on the loud gurgling noise.

Chief heard the other two turn, their automatic weapons rattling in his direction. He could just make out the shape of the nearest. He had to take the chance, before they mowed him down. He raised his pistol and fired, then dove for cover. His target fell. The fourth soldier opened up wildly with his Schmeisser. The muzzle flash gave him away, and Chief dropped him with one well-aimed shot.

Chief lay in the damp leaves, motionless for long minutes, listening for any hint that there were others. He heard nothing but the night wind in the trees. He rose and checked on each of the fallen soldiers. They were all dead.

With only a fleeting thought that Actor might shoot him, Chief stormed back into the house, and went directly for Marco, still sitting on the cot next to Minna. "You rotten little bastard..." Grabbing the stunned boy by the shirt, he yanked him to his feet and back-handed him across the face.

Before he could do it again, Actor grabbed his arm. "Stop it."

"He led 'em right to us..."

"I didn't, I swear..." Marco was choking in Chief's strong grip.

"No, he wouldn't do that," Minna yelled.

Actor pushed Chief away, and Marco fell back onto the cot. "Get your gear. We need to leave."

Chief glared at Actor, but took a breath, fighting down his anger, and turned to gather up his rifle and ammo.

"Come on, Marco." Actor reached down to help the kid to his feet. "Do you think you can walk?"

Chief swung around. "No way. He ain't comin' with us."

"I say he is."

"He almost got us killed..."

Minna rose and faced him squarely. "If he doesn't go, neither do I."

What was the matter with them? He'd just killed four German soldiers, and they were acting like it was a Sunday stroll in the park. He didn't have time to argue. The woods would soon be swarming with Gerries. As he buckled on his utility belt and slung his rifle over his shoulder, he pinned Marco with a glare. "You better keep up."

gg gg gg gg gg gg

Just as the sky had been lightening, they'd come upon the sentries guarding the small U.S. Army outpost set up in an abandoned farm. Luckily the guards decided to ask questions first, before opening fire, and they'd been escorted to the commander's office in the dilapidated farmhouse. Actor had explained who they were and what their mission was, but the young lieutenant was understandably cautious of strangers with a wild story and dubious ID's. And he had no knowledge of Garrison and the others. While the lieutenant tried to contact HQ to verify their story, he had confiscated their weapons, and locked them in a storage shed. The guards had taken Marco to the medical tent to treat his wound.

The platoon was using the shed to store machine parts and equipment. Any useful farm tools had been looted long ago. All that was left from the original owner was a stack of fire wood and a lewd 1937 calendar.

Chief tested the locked door, and checked the boards nailed over the single window. He walked around the shed, kicking at the base of the walls where he could get to them behind the crates. He could break out of this cracker box in minutes. And almost everything stored here he could turn into a lethal weapon. But what then? Kill American soldiers? Steal guns and ammo? He settled onto a crate of motor oil next to the window, where he had a narrow view through a crack. He hated the helplessness, the thought that the longer they waited, the less likely they'd be to find Garrison and the others alive.

"Try to relax, Chief. The Lieutenant knows what he's doing." Actor took a seat on the crates across from him.

The fact that Actor could almost read his mind was both comforting and unsettling. But they were probably thinking the same thing. Garrison knew how to handle himself in tight situations, but he was also a risk-taker. Sometimes dangerous risks that didn't always pan out.

Minna sat huddled on the wood pile at the far end of the shed, her knees pulled up in front of her, her arms wrapped tightly around them. "How long will it take them to get an answer back from their headquarters?"

"It's hard to tell," Actor told her. "Communications on the front lines aren't always the best."

Chief heard the medic and Marco coming before he saw them. "Looks like lover-boy'll live."

The door squeaked open, and a corpsman walked in, guiding Marco in front of him. "Whoever took care of that wound did a good job. He's going to be fine."

"Thank you, Corporal." Actor took Marco's arm and led him over to sit next to Minna.

"And I brought you these." The corporal handed around some C-ration cans, a few utensils, and two full canteens. "Thought you might be hungry. If you need anything else, just knock on the door. There's a private right outside."

The lock clicked solidly back in place when the corpsman left. Chief knew he should be hungry, but his stomach was in knots. He opened his can of stew and took it over to Minna. He had no idea when she'd last eaten.

Marco swatted his hand away, splattering the stew across the floor. "Get away from her."

Chief really wanted to just smack the idiot, but he kept his voice low. "What's the matter, punk? Afraid I'll steal your girl?"

Marco lunged at him, a balled fist ready to swing, but Actor jumped between them. "Gentlemen, this is not helping." He pushed Marco back toward the wood pile. "You wanted us to bring you along, son. Now you need to show a little gratitude."

Marco glared at them both, but sat back down, and Minna put a comforting arm around his shoulders.

Actor gave Chief a little shove, and they both moved to the other end of the shed. Chief didn't want to take his eyes off the hot-headed kid. He was a threat. But he settled back next to the window, getting control of his anger.

Actor opened his can of stew and dug in. "Ah, to taste a real gourmet meal again..."

Chief watched Minna and Marco sharing their meal, smiling and talking softly, as if they were on a picnic. "What does she see in that jerk?"

Actor glanced up from his stew. "Who knows what's in the mind of a teenage girl."

"She risked her life draggin' him along."

Actor shrugged. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Chief turned his attention back to the window. "I don't think the heart's the part of anatomy they're thinkin' about right now."

"Surely you've been in love? Willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your inamorata?"

He had. And it had been a mistake. He shook off the memory.

The sound of voices and someone else approaching the shed grabbed his attention. This time he couldn't see anything through the narrow vantage point of the small crack. They'd taken his knife and sheath, but he still had the blade in his boot. Out of reflex, he pulled it out and snapped it open.

When the door swung open, Garrison was the first one through, followed by Casino.

Relief swept through Chief in a wave. "Good way to lose a kidney, Warden."

Actor was on his feet. "We were wondering what happened to you."

Garrison's smile gave away his own relief. "We tried to draw the Krauts away from you. Looks like it worked."

"Partially," Actor explained. "We left four dead Germans back at the rendezvous site."

Casino noticed the extra kid sitting on the wood pile. "Looks like you been pickin' up strays along the way."

"Tried not to." Then Chief's relief evaporated. "Where's Goniff?"

Garrison's smile disappeared. "He was bringing up our rear. He fell behind, and the Krauts grabbed him."

"Clumsy little limey probably tripped over his own bootlaces," Casino added.

"We circled back and found where they took him, but we were outnumbered and out-gunned. We came back here for weapons." Garrison handed a rifle and an ammo belt to Chief. And his knife and sheath. "We have to hurry. We need to get back there before the SS does."

"They'll just let us go? They've authenticated our identities?" Actor sounded surprised that it had happened so quickly.

"I worked a little West Point magic with the CO. But he won't spare anyone to watch the kids. You'll need to stay with them, Actor."

"But Warden..."

"She's the mission. You need to keep her safe. If they have to pull back, you go with them. We'll catch up."

Reluctantly Actor agreed. Chief buckled on his sheath and the ammo belt and then approached Marco. He held out his hand and snapped his fingers. "The garrote?"

Marco just stared at him.

"The braided leather. C'mon, kid, I know you have it. You'll be sorry if I have to take it offa you."

Marco shrugged and pulled the thin leather strap out of his pocket. Chief snatched it from his hand and followed his commander out the door.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

The small squad of German soldiers was protecting a bridge that crossed a ravine, probably intending to use it for troops attacking Allied lines. It was only a few miles from the American encampment they'd just left. They'd sat motionless in the underbrush for twenty minutes, on a rise just south of the camp, as the Krauts went about their daily routine around the single large tent.

"I count six," Garrison whispered. "There could be more in the tent. Chief, think you can handle the two at the end of the bridge?"

Chief had been watching them. They were becoming more and more relaxed as the day grew warmer. They stood together smoking and talking, their weapons slung lazily over their shoulders. He could get each one with a knife from the cover of the bushes on the embankment below the bridge. "Piece a cake," he assured the Lieutenant.

"Casino and I will handle the other four, and whoever comes out of that tent, but it's going to get loud."

"If Goniff's in there, I sure hope he knows to duck," Casino said.

Garrison tapped Chief on the shoulder, and he slinked off through the woods toward the ravine. Behind him, he heard Garrison and Casino move down the rise toward the camp. He knew they'd wait until he made his kills before they opened up.

The two guards had their backs to him, deep in their conversation, paying no attention to their surroundings. Chief's first throw hit true, striking the guy in the heart. Just as he released the second knife, the other one moved, reacting to his partner falling against him. The blade hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped to his knees, clutching at the knife sticking out of his back.

Shit. He hated this part. Chief scrambled up the bank and pounced on the writhing soldier, deftly slipping the garrote around his neck. Then he pulled with all his strength, the leather cutting into his hands. He knew he could close his eyes, not watch. But something inside him told him he had to. It was his duty, his penance, to witness the life he was taking drain from the bulging eyes. Then the soldier was still.

Quickly he retrieved both knives. The gunfire around the tent had slowed. Three soldiers already lay dead, but the fourth was behind the jeep at the front of the tent, keeping Garrison pinned down behind a line of sandbags. Casino was nowhere to be seen. But Chief had a clear shot, and he took it, hitting the Kraut in the head. And then things went deathly quiet.

Until Casino shouted from inside the tent. "Chief, get in here!"

Casino was kneeling next to Goniff, who was sitting on the floor, his hands tied behind him around the tent's center pole. He looked dazed, not quite conscious, with dried blood matting his hair. A dead German half blocked the entrance.

Casino was struggling with Goniff's bindings. "I can't get this damn knot untied. Gimme your knife."

While Casino cut through the ropes binding Goniff's hands, Chief did the same with the ones around his ankles.

Garrison put his head through the tent flap. "How is he?"

"Alive," was all Chief was willing to say, lifting Goniff carefully, and pulling him over his shoulder.

"Look what they're storin' in here, Warden." Casino kicked one of the dozens of gasoline cans stacked at the back of the tent. "There's enough gas here for the entire Kraut army."

"Good. The tent will go up like a Roman candle."

"What? You really gonna leave that bridge standin'?"

"No time. Besides, our guys might need it. Now let's get moving before company shows up."

With Garrison's help, Chief eased Goniff onto the back seat of the jeep, then climbed behind the wheel. The jeep roared to life, and as he pulled away, Casino tossed a grenade toward the tent. Chief felt the heat of the explosion on the back of his neck as he sped toward the road and the Allied lines.

gg gg gg gg gg gg

It was uncertain when they would fly out. Whenever there was space on a transport heading back to England. With the ramping up of the Allied invasion of Italy, the airbase south of Naples was a lot busier now than it had been the first time they were here. There were so many cots lined up in the barracks that it was hard to move around. And if possible, it was even hotter than it had been the last time.

Actor and Casino had found their bunks and immediately fallen asleep. Goniff was spending the night in the medical facility, under the watchful eye of the doctor. He had a gash on his head and a concussion, but was otherwise in one piece. The love birds were being debriefed by Garrison and some of the brass. Chief sat for a while on the cot they'd assigned him, flipping through an old Life magazine, but he knew sleep wouldn't find him until he was back home in his own bunk. Home. Now there was a word he never thought he'd own.

The magazine wasn't holding his attention. He needed air. He needed space. He found his way to the quonset hut that served as a mess hall. At this time of night, it was deserted. He scrounged a cup of leftover lukewarm coffee and a tin of cookies, and took them to a table in the corner, where he sat leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out along the bench.

When the door squeaked open, he looked up. Marco was weaving his way toward him through the maze of tables. The boy's arm was now in a sling, and someone had given him clean fatigues. The shirt drooped from his shoulders, and the pants bunched at his ankles, dragging on the floor. He looked like a kid playing army dress-up.

Marco stopped ten feet from him, watching him as if he were some wild animal about to attack. "Can I talk to you?"

"Nothin's stoppin' you."

The boy cleared his throat. "My English is not very good, and I do not speak Polish..."

"Neither do I."

Marco frowned, but then the lightbulb came on. "No. Of course not." He cleared his throat again, and took a cautious step forward. "I wanted to say that I am sorry I caused so much trouble. I really did not know the Germans were following me. It's just that I was scared for Minna. I never would have done anything to put her in danger."

"Didn't look too scared when you were tryin' to get in her pants."

"That was...well, it just happened, and...I like her very much..."

Chief smiled, deciding the kid didn't need anymore torturing. "It's okay. I got it."

Marco looked at his boots. "I will miss her."

"You ain't comin' with us?"

"No. This is my home. My mother and sisters...I have to stay and fight." He shuffled his feet, then took another hesitant step forward. "I am worried about what will happen to her when she gets to England. She likes you, and she seems to trust you. Will you take care of her?"

"Not my job. She's going back to her papa."

"I do not trust her father," Marco spit. "He has done evil things with the weapons he creates."

Chief sat forward and studied the boy. He didn't trust Major Vogel either. The man had risked his own life to help save Chief's, but someone who could betray one allegiance could just as easily betray another. "At least she'll be away from the fightin'," Chief assured him.

"Yes, she will have that," Marco sighed. "When you see her, tell her that I...that I will be thinking about her." He turned and headed toward the door.

"Hey, kid," Chief called, and the boy turned back. "Good luck."

Marco smiled and the door slammed behind him. Chief stood and drained the last gritty dregs from his coffee cup. The kid probably won't live to see 17.

The stench of whatever had been for dinner was getting to him. He picked up the tin of cookies and took them outside to the wooden bench that faced south, across open farmland. There was a sliver of a moon, and the Milky Way glowed into infinity overhead. The pathway of spirits traveling to heaven, his grandfather had taught him. It must be a real traffic jam these days.

Behind him he heard someone stroll around the corner of the mess hall. "Mind if I join ya, mate?"

He did, but he kept his mouth shut. The guy sounded like Goniff.

The bench creaked as the young man sat next to him. "Nice night, ain't it?"

Chief put another cookie in his mouth and offered one to his new companion.

"Thanks."

For a quiet moment, the guy munched on his cookie, appraising Chief's muddy pants and torn shirt. "You're gonna get in trouble bein' out of uniform and all."

"Not regular army," Chief explained.

"Oh, you're with that special unit that came in this afternoon. I 'eard about you."

So much for secrecy. A crowded air base wasn't any different from a crowded prison. Everybody knew everybody else's business.

The Brit grinned at him. "Ya off duty? Why ain't ya in town, takin' advantage of a little rest and relaxation?" He put a lascivious spin on the 'rest and relaxation'.

"Maybe later."

The young Brit held out his hand. "I'm Jonny. Jonathan to me mum."

Chief accepted the handshake. "Chief."

"Just Chief?"

"Just Chief."

"Oh, I get it. A secret code name."

"Somethin' like that." Chief thought maybe a helpful hint might convince the guy to leave. "You headed in for a little rest and relaxation?"

Jonny shrugged. "I was at the pub for a wee bit. Had a coupla pints. All me mates were out to find a bit a skirt. But I got me a special little bird waitin' for me back 'ome, ya see. Just wouldn't seem right. She's the only girl I want."

"Lucky you."

"Yeah, look 'ere." Jonny pulled a wallet-sized picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. "This is me and my girl just before I shipped out. Ain't she a looker?"

Chief took the picture. Even from the small black and white image, he knew those unruly curls were ginger, the smiling eyes were bright green, her lipstick was red. He had the same involuntary reaction he always had when he looked at her. It was the other automatic reaction that caught him off guard - the lump that rose in his throat. He smiled and handed the picture back. "You're real lucky, friend."


End file.
